This life is only a prelude to eternity, where we are to expect another original, and another state of things; we have no prospect of heaven here but at a distance; let us therefore expect our last and decretory hour with courage. The last (I say) to our bodies, but not to our minds: our luggage we leave behind us, and return as naked out of the world as we came into it. The day which we fear as our last is but the birth-day of our eternity; and it is the only way to it. So that what we fear as a rock, proves to be but a port, in many cases to be desired, never to be refused; and he that dies young has only made a quick voyage of it. Some are becalmed, others cut it away before wind; and we live just as we sail: first, we rub our childhood out of sight; our youth next; and then our middle age: after that follows old age, and brings us to the common end of mankind.
This life is only a preview of eternity. There we can expect a completely new beginning and a different state of existence. We have no clear view of heaven here, only a distant glimpse. So let us face our final and decisive hour with courage. I say final for our bodies, but not for our minds. We leave our baggage behind us and return as naked from the world as we entered it. The day we fear as our last is actually the birthday of our eternity. It's the only way to reach it. What we fear as a dangerous rock turns out to be just a safe harbor. In many cases it should be welcomed, never refused. Someone who dies young has simply made a quick voyage of it. Some are becalmed at sea, others sail swiftly before the wind. We live just as we sail. First, we leave our childhood behind. Then our youth disappears. Next goes our middle age. After that comes old age, bringing us to the common end of all mankind.
It is a great providence that we have more ways out of the world than we have into it. Our security stands upon a point, the very article of death. It draws a great many blessings into a very narrow compass: and although the fruit of it does not seem to extend to the defunct, yet the difficulty of it is more than balanced by the contemplation of the future. Nay, suppose that all the business of this world should be forgotten, or my memory, traduced, what is all this to me? “I have done my duty.” Undoubtedly that which puts an end to all other evils, cannot be a very great evil itself, and yet it is no easy thing for flesh and blood to despise life. What if death comes? If it does not stay with us why should we fear it? One hangs himself for a mistress; another leaps the garret-window to avoid a choleric master; a third runs away and stabs himself, rather than he will be brought back again. We see the force even of our infirmities, and shall we not then do greater things for the love of virtue? To suffer death is but the law of nature; and it is a great comfort that it can be done but once; in the very convulsions of it we have this consolation, that our pain is near an end, and that it frees us from all the miseries of life.
It's fortunate that we have more ways to leave this world than we have to enter it. Our safety hangs by a thread, right at the moment of death. Death brings many blessings into a small space. The dead person may not seem to benefit from it, but the difficulty of dying is more than made up for by thinking about what comes after. Let's say all the business of this world gets forgotten, or my reputation gets ruined. What does any of this matter to me? "I have done my duty." Clearly, whatever puts an end to all other evils can't be a very great evil itself. Yet it's not easy for people to dismiss life. What if death comes? If it doesn't stay with us, why should we fear it? One man hangs himself over a woman. Another jumps from a window to escape an angry master. A third runs away and stabs himself rather than be brought back. We see the power of even our weaknesses. Shouldn't we then do greater things for the love of virtue? Dying is just the law of nature. It's a great comfort that it can only happen once. Even in death's convulsions, we have this consolation: our pain is almost over, and death frees us from all of life's miseries.
What it is we know not, and it were rash to condemn what we do not understand; but this we presume, either that we shall pass out of this into a better life, where we shall live with tranquillity and splendor, in diviner mansions, or else return to our first principles, free from the sense of any inconvenience. There is nothing immortal, nor many things lasting; by but divers ways everything comes to an end. What an arrogance is it then, when the world itself stands condemned to a dissolution, that man alone should expect to live forever! It is unjust not to allow unto the giver the power of disposing of his own bounty, and a folly only to value the present. Death is as much a debt as money, and life is but a journey towards it: some dispatch it sooner, others later, but we must all have the same period. The thunderbolt is undoubtedly just that draws even from those that are struck with it a veneration.
We don't know what death really is, and it would be foolish to condemn something we don't understand. But we can assume one of two things will happen: either we'll move on to a better life, where we'll live peacefully and gloriously in divine homes, or we'll return to our original state, free from any suffering. Nothing is immortal, and few things last long. Everything comes to an end in different ways. How arrogant it is, then, when the world itself is destined to end, that humans alone should expect to live forever! It's unfair not to allow the giver the power to decide what happens to his own gift. It's foolish to value only the present moment. Death is as much a debt as money, and life is just a journey toward it. Some people reach it sooner, others later, but we all must arrive at the same destination. The thunderbolt is surely just, since it commands respect even from those it strikes.
A great soul takes no delight in staying with the body: it considers whence it came, and knows whither it is to go. The day will come that shall separate this mixture of soul and body, of divine and human; my body I will leave where I found it, my soul I will restore to heaven, which would have been there already, but for the clog that keeps it down: and beside, how many men have been the worse for longer living, that might have died with reputation if they had been sooner taken away! How many disappointments of hopeful youths, that have proved dissolute men! Over and above the ruins, shipwrecks, torments, prisons, that attend long life; a blessing so deceitful, that if a child were in condition to judge of it, and at liberty to refuse it, he would not take it.
A great soul takes no delight in staying with the body. It considers where it came from and knows where it's going. The day will come that separates this mixture of soul and body, of divine and human. I will leave my body where I found it. My soul I will restore to heaven, where it would have been already if not for the weight that keeps it down. Besides, how many men have been worse off for living longer? They might have died with their reputation intact if they had been taken away sooner. How many promising young people have disappointed us by becoming dissolute adults? Add to this the ruins, shipwrecks, torments, and prisons that come with long life. Life is such a deceitful blessing that if a child could judge it properly and had the freedom to refuse it, he would not take it.
What Providence has made necessary, human prudence should comply with cheerfully: as there is a necessity of death, so that necessity is equal and invincible. No man has cause of complaint for that which every man must suffer as well as himself. When we should die, we will not, and when we would not we must: but our fate is fixed, and unavoidable is the decree. Why do we then stand trembling when the time comes? Why do we not as well lament that we did not live a thousand years ago, as that we shall not be alive a thousand years hence? It is but traveling the great road, and to the place whither we must all go at last. It is but submitting to the law of Nature, and to that lot which the whole world has suffered that is gone before us; and so must they too that are to come after us. Nay, how many thousands, when our time comes, will expire in the same moment with us! He that will not follow shall be drawn by force: and is it not much better now to do that willingly which we shall otherwise be made to do in spite of our hearts?
What fate has made necessary, human wisdom should accept cheerfully. Death is a necessity, and that necessity is equal and unstoppable for everyone. No one has reason to complain about something that every person must suffer just as much as themselves. When we should die, we don't want to. When we don't want to die, we must. But our fate is fixed, and the decree cannot be avoided. Why do we stand trembling when the time comes? Why don't we mourn that we didn't live a thousand years ago, just as we mourn that we won't be alive a thousand years from now? Death is simply traveling the great road to the place where we must all go eventually. It's just submitting to the law of nature and accepting the same fate that everyone who came before us has suffered. Those who come after us must face it too. In fact, when our time comes, thousands of others will die at the same moment as us. Anyone who won't follow willingly will be dragged by force. Isn't it much better to do willingly now what we'll otherwise be forced to do against our will?
The sons of mortal parents must expect a mortal posterity—death is the end of great and small. We are born helpless, and exposed to the injuries of all creatures and of all weathers. The very necessaries of life are deadly to us; we meet with our fate in our dishes, in our cups, and in the very air we breathe; nay, our very birth is inauspicious, for we come into the world weeping, and in the middle of our designs, while we are meditating great matters, and stretching of our thoughts to after ages, death cuts us off, and our longest date is only the revolution of a few years. One man dies at the table; another goes away in his sleep, a third in his mistress’s arms, a fourth is stabbed, another is stung with an adder, or crushed with the fall of a house. We have several ways to our end, but the end itself, which is death, is still the same. Whether we die by a sword, by a halter, by a potion, or by a disease, it is all but death. A child dies in the swaddling-clouts, and an old man at a hundred—they are both mortal alike, though the one goes sooner than the other. All that lies betwixt the cradle and the grave is uncertain. If we compute the troubles, the life even of a child is long: if the sweetness of the passage, that of an old man is short; the whole is slippery and deceitful, and only death certain; and yet all people complain of that which never deceived any man. Senecio raised himself from a small beginning to a vast fortune, being very well skilled in the faculties both of getting and of keeping, and either of them was sufficient for the doing of his business. He was a man infinitely careful both of his patrimony and of his body. He gave me a morning’s visit, (says our author,) and after that visit he went away and spent the rest of the day with a friend of his that was desperately sick. At night, he was merry at supper, and seized immediately after with a quinsy which dispatched him in a few hours. This man that had money at use in all places, and in the very course and height of his prosperity was thus cut off. How foolish a thing is it then for a man to flatter himself with long hopes, and to pretend to dispose of the future: nay, the very present slips through our fingers, and there is not that moment which we can call our own.
The children of mortal parents must expect to be mortal too. Death comes to everyone, great and small alike. We are born helpless and vulnerable to all creatures and all kinds of weather. Even the basic necessities of life can kill us. We meet our fate in our food, in our drinks, and in the very air we breathe. Our birth itself is unlucky, for we enter the world crying. In the middle of our plans, while we're thinking about great things and imagining our legacy for future generations, death cuts us down. Our longest life is only a few years. One person dies at the dinner table. Another passes away in sleep. A third dies in his lover's arms. A fourth gets stabbed. Another is bitten by a snake or crushed when a house falls. We have many different ways to reach our end, but the end itself is always the same: death. Whether we die by sword, rope, poison, or disease, it's all just death. A baby dies in swaddling clothes, and an old man dies at a hundred. They are equally mortal, though one goes sooner than the other. Everything between the cradle and the grave is uncertain. If we count up our troubles, even a child's life feels long. If we think about how quickly time passes, an old man's life seems short. The whole thing is slippery and deceptive. Only death is certain, yet everyone complains about the one thing that has never deceived anyone. Senecio built himself up from humble beginnings to great wealth. He was very skilled at both making money and keeping it. Either skill alone would have been enough for his success. He was extremely careful with both his inheritance and his health. He paid me a morning visit, says our author, and after that visit he went to spend the rest of the day with a friend who was desperately ill. That night, he was cheerful at dinner and was immediately struck with a throat infection that killed him within hours. This man who had money invested everywhere, who was at the very peak of his success, was cut down just like that. How foolish it is for anyone to flatter themselves with long-term hopes and to pretend they can control the future. Even the present moment slips through our fingers. There is no moment we can truly call our own.
How vain a thing is it for us to enter upon projects, and to say to ourselves, “Well, I will go build, purchase, discharge such offices, settle my affairs, and then retire!” We are all of us born to the same casualties—all equally frail and uncertain of to-morrow. At the very altar where we pray for life, we learn to die, by seeing the sacrifices killed before us. But there is no need of a wound, or searching the heart for it, when the noose of a cord, or the smothering of a pillow will do the work. All things have their seasons—they begin, they increase, and they die. The heavens and the earth grow old, and are appointed their periods.
How pointless it is for us to make grand plans and tell ourselves, "I'll go build something, buy property, handle my business duties, get my affairs in order, and then retire!" We're all born facing the same risks. We're all equally fragile and uncertain about tomorrow. At the very altar where we pray for life, we learn about death by watching the sacrifices killed before us. But we don't need a wound or need to search the heart for death when a noose or a smothering pillow will do the job. Everything has its time. Things begin, they grow, and they die. Even the heavens and earth grow old and have their appointed end.
That which we call death is but a pause or suspension; and, in truth, a progress to life, only our thoughts look downward upon the body, and not forward upon things to come. All things under the sun are mortal—cities—empires—and the time will come when it shall be a question where they were, and, perchance, whether ever they had a being or not. Some will be destroyed by war, others by luxury, fire, inundations, earthquakes—why should it trouble me then to die, as a forerunner of an universal dissolution? A great mind submits itself to God, and suffers willingly what the law of the universe will otherwise bring to pass upon necessity.
What we call death is just a pause or break. In truth, it's actually progress toward life. We only focus downward on the body instead of looking forward to what comes next. Everything under the sun will die—cities, empires, all of it. The time will come when people will wonder where they were, and maybe even whether they ever existed at all. Some will be destroyed by war, others by luxury, fire, floods, earthquakes. So why should it trouble me to die, when I'm just going ahead of a universal ending that awaits everything? A great mind submits itself to God and willingly accepts what the law of the universe will bring about through necessity.
That good old man Bassus, (though with one foot in the grave,) how cheerful a mind does he bear. He lives in the view of death, and contemplates his own end with less concern of thought or countenance, than he would do another man’s. It is a hard lesson, and we are a long time a learning of it, to receive our death without trouble, especially in the case of Bassus: in other deaths there is a mixture of hope—a disease may be cured, a fire quenched, a falling house either propped or avoided, the sea may swallow a man and throw him up again, a pardon may interpose twixt the ax and the body—but in the case of old age there is no place for either hope or intercession.
That good old man Bassus has one foot in the grave, yet look how cheerful he remains. He lives knowing death is near. He thinks about his own end with less worry than he would show for another man's death. This is a hard lesson that takes us a long time to learn: how to face our own death without fear. This is especially true in Bassus's case. With other kinds of death, there's always some hope mixed in. A disease might be cured. A fire can be put out. A falling house can be propped up or escaped. The sea might swallow a man and then spit him back out. A pardon might come between the ax and the condemned man's neck. But with old age, there's no room for hope or anyone stepping in to help.
Let us live in our bodies, therefore, as if we were only to lodge in them this night, and to leave them to-morrow. It is the frequent thought of death that must fortify us against the necessity of it. He that has armed himself against poverty, may, perhaps, come to live in plenty. A man may strengthen himself against pain and yet live in a state of health; against the loss of friends, and never lose any, but he that fortifies himself against the fear of death shall most certainly have occasion to employ that virtue. It is the care of a wise and a good man to look to his manners and actions; and rather how well he lives than how long, for to die sooner or later is not the business, but to die well or ill, for “death brings us to immortality.”
Let us live in our bodies as if we were only staying in them tonight and leaving tomorrow. We must think about death often to prepare ourselves for when it comes. Someone who protects himself against poverty might end up living in wealth. A person may strengthen himself against pain and still enjoy good health. He might guard against losing friends and never lose any. But whoever prepares himself against the fear of death will certainly need to use that strength. A wise and good person focuses on his behavior and actions. He cares more about how well he lives than how long he lives. Dying sooner or later doesn't matter, but dying well or badly does. After all, "death brings us to immortality."